today was a good day
i thought i heard jazz was coming back to LA
its not the be bopping of the choking addict that i mind
or the thumping clacking of the garbage trucks
somehow the sweating forehead of a trumpet player
is far more joyous than me sweating the long wait at the midnight taxi out front in the downtown bar
i can’t wait for the story tellers to be bold
to pluck and beat and tickle pink the ivory teeth of a piano in 2 5 1 C
Current Events
she knows
for a long time
here in our home
we as tired brethren
squeezed unto these walls
the sky loosing grip
bowed heads so often seen
yet the city knows
our pain
mock the bird
in walking Kadapul petals fall to coat my steps
but really they’re just dirty leaves
as my daydreams waft into another direction
there is a certain equalizer in knowing
something comes this way and we all feel it
thoughts crumble upon the upward pounding of my feet
instinct against the grain
follow through with the maps in my head
stop and wave at a child and her puppy
another block and sun does shine
a mother talks a husband hounds
from his sitting family
‘what do you want to drink’
with coffee in left hand
passer bys ignore me
i blend into the posted centennial wall
the one by the bronze pig heads
and the bike racks rented by the Metro line
death mask faces reflected in mine
our wrinkles in the old and young
mock the bird silhouettes of our sky
our return in trying to make sense of our lives
post war America
post war America
with my morning coffee
bomb my soul
with bad news
bust economy
we sing the blues
through Alexa
post war America
which one is that
i against i
freedom of curiosity
5G napalmed
no longer exists
the smorgasbord of Adam’s tree
a swipe away from a child’s magic machine
post war America
infiltrated in my dreams
meander through my streets
come witness your children be
Hollywood postcards
there are gopher holes on the sidewalk lawns
and every once in a while on Camilla street
the dirt will mound up next to a dandelion clump
someone lived here once and they still do
and they get visited on lattice top pie Sundays
on the front door a wreath for every celebration
and after morning coffee the garage door opens
name brand grass rose and cactus fertilizers
there are potholes and no sidewalks on Alameda
someone we don’t think of lives here and many more
the dirt around her ankles with pink thread strands
in matted hair with feathers
on Tuesday last her blanket drenched in rain
by her thigh a Starbucks cup to collect her pay
peeking into secret plastic bags
her slitted lips whisper at the fence
there are various hours of the day
where heads can’t be wrapped around anything
i admit i’m old fashioned broken indoctrinated
i’m too tired so very tired to fight a fight
good bad or indifferent
the landscape is not what we think it is
there are no alien or governmental microchips
only old Hollywood postcards in our brain
cardboard sheets
the best walk is in the morning right before the sun completely rises the odors of garbage and French bread coupled with bus ozone and weed exist in a universe of the mind and the alley
there are men lined up against the buildings and traffic electric boxes their hoodies exclaim to the world that they are Raider Laker or Ram fans cigarette crack meth and weed wafts creating a unitary phantasmic god of smoke
some women stand by the liquor stores lighting a toke some women have little children and they stand waiting for the crosswalk light to change some women walk on blind to the world face in phone heading for a loft to be beautiful the click emitted by the heel of their Louboutin only amplifies the agony of sleeping bodies on the cardboard sheets
is it possible to be clinically alive but haunt a building is it possible to be shrouded in death and still feel the dullness of life Bandini where is the Spring time
morning is thriving and as the minutes whiz by the city gets hotter the fire department connector pipes have an extra gleam today as i study them they have written upon them the secrets of the street urchin in the sharpie pen dialect
fruit and tamale vendors mushroom up and down the side streets they methodically feed their families by feeding the mason crews contracted to erect unobtainable luxury the divide between those and us is so great by now is our poverty obtainable for them
Yolanda’s haiku
smog ring trash truck roar
morning toke begging cup score
her smile yet to be
Maggie’s haiku
her eyes golden filled
look at it its burning bright
sun on her windows
sing road
reach you stars
urban pad to launch from
man of money made
tank of thinking minds
streets crossed
intersection containing all of us
heads in the cloud web of world
stomachs of babes too hungry to sail
on ships flying out
through misery and doubt
31536000 seconds
farewell again
in the cold starlight
no roar of laughter
just faint clinks
of crystal flutes
champagne and hope
no silk dresses
just fluffy socks
hoodies and tea
Twilight Zone marathon
in the background
children squealing by the orange trees
while mom and dad clean up
after the pug
thoughts about health scares
anxiety and quick sand rage
mingle like oil and water
with the laughter of my beloved
tomorrow is a fresh start
a dash to new goals and new tolls
under the mercy of our chosen ones
as long as the sky is blue
as birds sing and flit across my yard
i can face with a strong chin
the next 31536000 seconds
words less spoken 